


Signed: -M.K.

by A_dot_Gab



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Abandonment, Abuse, Birthdays, Coming Out, Existential Crisis, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Grudges, Healing, Implied Child Abuse, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Other, Running Away, Standing up to one's abuser, Substance Abuse, Suicidal Ideation, Suicide Attempt, The Twelve Step Program For Life by M.K., Trouble Sleeping, Underage Drinking, breakdowns, but more tags to come, escaping abusive relationships, forgiveness (can you imagine), heavily implied partner abuse, judgemental and nosy parents, learning to love yourself, mild inferiority complex, shit coping skills, talking to strangers, wow these tags have like zero order sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2018-07-12 19:09:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 8,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7118881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_dot_Gab/pseuds/A_dot_Gab
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Listen. Breathe. Keep listening. Keep breathing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Philip

**Author's Note:**

  * For [qynntessence](https://archiveofourown.org/users/qynntessence/gifts).
  * Inspired by [the twelve step program for life](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5551541) by [qynntessence](https://archiveofourown.org/users/qynntessence/pseuds/qynntessence). 
  * Inspired by [The Twelve Step Program For Life](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/204157) by M.K.. 



> My first serious multi-chapter fic! Wowee! Alright, so I'm just kind of posting this as I go but I've got every chapter planned out. It might be a bit of ride to the finish. My suggestion, if you're worried about the topics this could tackle, is to read the twelve steps. That said:
> 
> Chapter Summary: There will be some days when you close your eyes while crossing the street, maybe because you want to see what fate has in store for you, or maybe because your depression is running rampant again and you don’t know how to calm her. It’s okay. I will still love you.

Philip wondered how long it would take, if he got hit. Would it end instantaneously? Would it hurt badly? Or would shock overtake him so quickly that he’d barely feel his injuries at all. Would he incur some irredeemable sin on himself by subjecting witnesses to such an event? Did it really matter? 

 

He walked on, farther from his dorm, closer to the busiest stoplight he knew (but this was New York, weren’t they all busy?). He’d considered this before. The evening air was quickly turning frigid, but under his thick coat, Phillip was sweating. He recalled suddenly, a line of his father’s college poetry he’d stumbled across as a child. ‘ _ I imagine death so much it feels more like a memory _ ’. He hadn’t understood the line then.

 

Seven blocks out from his destination he paused. What for he wasn’t sure. The air stung his lungs, pinched his face red. A train rumbled beneath his feet. Across the street, a vent quietly hissed up steam. It reminded him of the radiator at his grandfather’s house. He blew a white puff of air to match, and ceased loitering there.

 

Six blocks out, he paused again. A street vendor was wheeling his cart down an alley. It was laden with toys, bags, gloves, and candies. He remembered childishly squealing with delight whenever he and Angie had frivolously been allowed a treat from similar carts. It seemed so long ago. He waited until the vendor had turned a corner out of sight before moving on himself.

 

Five blocks out, he stopped to listen to the sudden laughter of a child from a nearby building. He wondered what the little ones were doing at home now. Maybe finishing homework, or playing a little longer before bed. Mom and Dad were probably with them, helping with hard questions or playing along. Pops was probably in his study. It was a weeknight after all. He continued on.

 

Four blocks out, he nearly jumped out of his skin when three teens shot out of an alley just in front of him, giggling uncontrollably. They darted across the street, over a fence into a nearby park and disappeared into the darkness, laughter echoing towards the sky. He did his best not to think of Theo at Princeton and Georges at his thrice weekly bio lab. The guilt might pin him to the sidewalk.

 

Three blocks out, he looked towards the sky. Clouds had gathered, high and wispy, but with enough volume to block out the few stars one could see in the city. Maybe it would snow soon. Panas Herc and Laf would be delighted. His pops, less so. 

 

Two blocks out, his phone rang. Theo. He ignored the call, turning his phone to silent when it finally stopped ringing. Hopefully, she’d think he was just busy and not be hurt by his failure to pick up. She would likely still love him regardless. He didn’t notice the subsequent texts from Georges, asking where he was and if he’d be coming back soon because Theo was visiting and he was missing out on cuddles and kisses.

  
One block out, he forced some purpose into his steps. The intersection was approaching quickly, cars zooming by too fast for his tired eyes to really track. A yard from the corner he closed his eyes. ‘ _ I love you all, _ ’ he thought, as he stepped off of the curb.  A horn blared, too close on his left, and then there was nothing.


	2. Eliza

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There will be a year, or a series of years when your birthday doesn’t feel special. Celebrate anyway. Because people spent time baking you a cake and buying you cards and even if they’re your family and they’re obligated to, they still love you. Cherish that love. Revel in it. It is the best gift you will ever receive.

“So then I slapped him!” Peggy slurred, swinging her hand animatedly and very nearly catching a streamer in the process. Angelica shook her head, chuckling, and Eliza forced a polite smile. Vindicated by her sisters’ reactions to her method of dealing with some asshole at a bar, she sat up a bit straighter, a haughty set to her shoulders. Eliza yawned.

 

“You can’t be tired yet, ‘Liza,” Angelica said, eyebrow raised. “It’s eight at night on your 21st birthday.” Eliza shrugged.

 

“My boys ran me around the city earlier,” Eliza responded, yawning again. “I barely made it here on time.” Angelica frowned, before rising to put away the cake.

 

“Fine, but brunch is happening tomorrow.” She turned towards Peggy. “And no begging off because you’re hungover.” Peggy scowled and finished Eliza’s water. Eliza stood and stretched.

 

“Come on, Pegs, let’s get to bed,” she said, wobbling slightly on her feet before finding her balance and helping her even more drunk sister up. They helped each other down the hall, and as Eliza tucked Peggy in, she received a kiss on the cheek and a sleepy ‘Happy Birthday’ followed promptly by deep, even breathing. Eliza crossed the hall, tiptoeing to avoid Angelica calling her back to the kitchen. She crawled into bed fully clothed with a sigh of relief, glad the day’s celebrations were finally over.

 

The remaining years leading up to 30 were easy to beg off. A well-placed appointment here, a deep desire to relax after a rough week of work there, the occasional played up illness scattered about, and, with the exception of a few graciously accepted gifts and some cupcakes or a small cake, Eliza had successfully avoided dealing with celebrating her birthday. Until now.

 

It started with a cut off conversation between John and Alex when she walked into the kitchen one morning a week before her 30th, little Philip in tow. Both men looked up, almost guiltily, before citing the time and dashing out the door with a peck on the cheek for each of them. She pursed her lips as the door shut, hoping they wouldn’t really do this to her.

 

Exactly a week later, Eliza woke up to breakfast in bed. She held back a groan and smiled instead, not wanting to alert anyone that might be home to her distress. The note from her boys detailed everything they had done. The house was clean, Philip was at a friend’s for a sleepover, their gifts were on the coffee table, and her boss had given her the day. With a shrug, Eliza tucked into her eggs with gusto. She was eating for two after all.

 

That evening, Eliza came home to a dark apartment. ‘ _ No, not dark, dim. _ ’ she thought, eyes immediately attracted to the soft light coming from her, John, and Alex’s bedroom. She toed off her shoes and padded silently towards the door. No one jumped out and yelled surprise. There was no cake or decorations or anything. Just her partners cuddled on the bed and waiting for her in their candlelit room. John noticed her first and let go of Alex to stand.

 

“We know you’re not much for your birthday, Betsey,” he began, walking over and pulling her close, “but your big day  _ is _ something to celebrate. We love you.” he punctuated his statement with a kiss, before picking her up in a bridal carry and placing her on the bed between himself and a smiling Alex.

  
“Love you,” Alex whispered into her hair, curling around her body. She smiled and pressed a kiss to his jaw. Birthdays might not be her thing, but maybe she could learn to celebrate with those she loved anyways.


	3. Lafayette

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You will learn that the saddest word in the English language is stay. Whether it’s your mother’s voice whispering it before you leave for college, or your ex-lover’s desperate screams as you walk out of the house, it will always be a hard word to hear. Sometimes you should listen to it, other times you shouldn’t. Trust yourself. Go with your gut.

Lafayette rarely struggled to find sleep, but some nights they couldn’t close their eyes and drift away. Some nights they missed France too much. Things were so different in America. Not bad. Just, different. They didn’t regret leaving France. They’d had to. But it still haunted them sometimes, the tears on their mother’s face as they’d left her Paris apartment. Their refusal to acknowledge her whispered stay because they could not obey it. Not when they didn’t know if she would comply with her own request or leave them once again. It still haunted them, the resigned look in Adrienne’s eyes when they told zir they were leaving for awhile. Ze would not outright ask them to stay if to go far from home was what they needed. But the palpable ache to do so was still there.

 

And even stateside, they had left so many times, ignoring more pleas to stay. The hardest had been Thomas. The memory of that night pained them.

 

“Stay with me, Gil.” Thomas had begged, clasping Lafayette’s hands in between his own. “Stay by my side.” Lafayette had pulled away, turned around, and sprinted out of the apartment, leaving Thomas on his knees, empty handed. They hadn’t spoken to each other since.

 

Lafayette rolled over, looking for a more comfortable position. When sleep continued to evade them, they sighed into their pillow and contemplated some more. Had they run too far, too fast? Perhaps they should’ve returned to France, at least for a visit, by now. Adri probably missed them dearly. Pierre, too. They had not even told the man they were leaving. They could not face him at the time.

 

They thought about making amends with Thomas. They didn’t hate him, even if they disagreed with him sometimes. A friendship could be possible where a relationship was not. Their teenage fling with Adri had taught them that much.

 

They rolled onto their back to stare into the near pitch blackness between themself and the ceiling. For a moment, it felt as though they were floating in space. They thought now of the times they had stayed. They had stayed in New York City, interested in the company of the three young men outside a hole-in-the-wall pizza parlor. They had stayed when, upon finding out that Lafayette had nowhere to go for the night, Hercules had offered his apartment. They stayed three weeks later when Hercules kissed them for the first time and they felt the stirrings of something that could hurt later on.

 

Lafayette could tell their body had little interest in sleep and so, with the intent to leave their bedmate undisturbed, they went to get up and watch the night pass on the couch in the living room. But as they sat up, two strong arms wrapped around their waist and gently pulled them back down.

 

“Stay?” a very sleepy Hercules asked them, eyes open just enough to give them tired puppy dog eyes. Lafayette smiled indulgently and laid back down, face to face with a now pleased Hercules.

“For you, mon amour, always.”


	4. Hercules

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Along with hearing the word stay, you will also hear the word why from every person who is remotely related to you. Why did you get that tattoo? Why did you try to kill yourself? Why aren’t you married yet? You don’t have to answer them. Be selfish. Keep some things to yourself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long. I went down with a bad case of writer's block for this chapter.

Hercules was fucking sick of people questioning everything he did. It was his life, wasn’t it? Couldn’t he just live it in peace? ‘ _ Apparently fucking not _ ’ he thought, snarl building on his normally calm lips. He stood abruptly, before he could say anything he’d regret, and stalked out of the house. He loved his family, truly he did, but they could be so nosy and judgemental. He spent three blocks consumed in his own thoughts before, “Oof!”

 

“Ouch!”

 

Hercules stumbled back a step. After catching his balance, he looked down to see a slightly disgruntled person on the sidewalk staring up at him. His irritated expression quickly shifted to one of rueful embarrassment. “Sorry about that.” he said, extending a hand to help the stranger up. They accepted his hand and introduced themself.

 

“Marie Paul-Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier Marquis de Lafayette,” they said, smiling. “Pronouns they/them. Rough day,  _ mon ami _ ?” Hercules blinked, attempting to process their name. Lafayette laughed at his struck expression. “Call me Lafayette. Come, we shall have coffee and you can tell  _ docteur  _ Laf all about your problems, and possibly your name.” Hercules blushed.

 

“Hercules Mulligan.” he said. “Pronouns he/him?” Lafayette hummed in acknowledgement and started off towards their favorite coffee shop, Hercules in tow. Once inside, they waved at the barista, who nodded and set about making two drinks, before steering Hercules to a slightly private corner table.

 

“Um, thanks, Lafayette.” Hercules mumbled. Lafayette grinned.

 

“Do not thank me yet, _mon nouvel ami_. You’ve yet to even taste the tea, nevermind tell me what is bothering you.” Lafayette stated, chuckling slightly. “Now, tell me, _s’il vous plait_ , or I shall commence guessing.” Hercules cocked his head for a moment, considering. He didn’t even know this person. Why would he tell them his life story or problems? But their eyes were so earnest —trusting and warm brown — and the way they leaned forward in their seat, it was as though they actually cared.

 

“I got a tattoo, the other day.” Hercules began. “My Da saw it earlier, told my Mam. They flipped.” Hercules paused as the barista delivered their drinks, smiling and nodding in thanks before turning back to Lafayette, who thanked the barista as well and turned to look appraisingly at Hercules.

 

“But that is not all,  _ mon ami _ ? Is it?” they asked, raising an eyebrow. Hercules shook his head and inhaled deeply.

 

“They started in on me, questioning like they always do when they don’t like my decisions. Why did I get the tattoo? Why did I get my ear pierced? Why don’t I have a girlfriend? Why do I like fashion? Why-”

 

“Are you like this.” Lafayette interrupted, brow furrowing as a frown took over their features. Hercules looked at them as though they’d offered the secret to the universe. Lafayette’s frown turned into a wistful smile. “You seem surprised. Your parents are hardly the only people in the universe to ask such questions.” They paused, took a sip of their coffee, checked their watch. “I am afraid I do not have much more time to chat, but remember this: your decisions, and the motivations behind them, are your own. If you do not question them, no one else will ever need to know the answers.” They placed a ten on the table, picked up their drink, and stood to leave.

 

“Wait!” Hercules cried. “There’s this pizza place two blocks over. Let me buy you dinner as thanks?” Lafayette smiled a small, genuine smile.

 

“Would seven be acceptable?” they asked. Hercules nodded.

  
“Of course, see you then,” he agreed. Lafayette flashed him a quick, megawatt grin and strolled out of the door. Hercules sat back in his chair, considering their words as he sipped on the surprisingly delicious tea Lafayette had ordered. After a couple minutes of quiet contemplation, he slugged the rest of his drink back, threw out the cup, and went home. And if his parents restarted their interrogation as soon as he opened the door, they certainly received no satisfying answers nor drew any of Hercules’ ire.


	5. Alexander

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some nights you won’t be able to sleep. You will lie awake at 2 am and contemplate existentialism and wonder if the French had a point. Get up. Get out of your bed. Do something. Because even if there is no God, what you do matters, who you are matters. You matter to me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jesus H. Christ I have been trying to write this since I posted the last chapter. Happy 4th y'all. Be safe.

In three hours and twenty-nine minutes exactly, Alexander would have to get out of bed and face the responsibilities of his day. But until then he got to stare at the ceiling in his dark dorm room and pretend that, without his books and electronics (taken by Hercules and stashed by Eliza until class at 8 a.m.), he was not having an existential crisis. He got to pretend that he was asleep and not shaking so hard that the entire bed frame was nearly vibrating. He got to pretend that he didn’t want to scream loud enough to wake the entire campus. 

 

If he could not write, could not act, could not do, how could he  _ be _ ? Without his words, Alex felt his very grip on existence slipping. All of his writing supplies were gone. Hercules had stopped entertaining his talking what seemed like an age ago. Was he real anymore? Was any of this real? 

 

Perhaps it was all a death dream, the last flashes of his brain as the ocean drowned him back on St. Croix. Or maybe that was part of the dream, too. Maybe he was dying of that fever in his mother’s arms. He pinched himself hard. If this was all a dream so be it. But let him wake up, God please let him wake up. Even if to wake was to die.

 

What time was it? Did time even exist? Did space? Did anything? Was he living? Was he dying? Was he dead? Could he be any of those things if he didn’t exist? Tears streaked down his face, leaving tracks of salt on his cheeks. He sat up, gripping the sheets as though the bed would throw him at any moment. The night remained still except for his buzzing head. He gasped a ragged breath, looked around the dark room. 

 

What was the difference between life and death for one person? If he pitched himself from the window or sat here until morning did it even make a difference in the grand scheme? But he  _ couldn’t _ . There was so much he had to do. He was only nineteen for God’s sake there was so much he could do. Maybe he was mostly stalled for the moment, but surely his actions, his life, could matter. What he did could create another instance of the butterfly effect. He just needed to do.

 

As quietly as possible, Alex slid out of bed, onto his hands and knees on the floor. He crawled, slowly to avoid waking Hercules, over to the man’s bag and quickly rifled through it for a pen and paper. Hopefully, his friend and roommate wouldn’t mind. And then, by the light of the moon and the streetlights outside, he began to write.

 

_ In the eye of a hurricane there is quiet, _

_ for just a moment, _

_ a yellow sky. _

_ When I was seventeen a hurricane _

_ destroyed my town. I didn’t drown. _

_ I couldn’t seem to die. . . _


	6. Angelica

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some days you will want to run away and never return. So go. Drive to a small town in the Northwest, maybe Oregon, and settle down there for a while. Tell people your name is Elizabeth, because you loved Jane Austen as a child and because this a town full of strangers and who’s to know the difference? Don’t be selfish. Call your mother each night and remind her that you love her. Come back home when you find yourself seeing your sadness painted in the shadows, and when you feel more at home in the arms of a stranger than on your own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright so it's been a bit but here we are the next chapter and it's a bit bigger than the others. It wasn't nearly as easy as I thought it was gonna be either. And I still feel like I wanna explore more. Maybe at a later date . . .

She had left in the wee hours of morning, before the sun was up, before her absence might be noticed, before anyone could try to stop her. She’d gotten in the car, picked a direction, and gone. When her tank ran low she stopped for gas (paid for with cash) and then kept going. She napped in the car when she got tired, stopped for the occasional snack when she felt hungry, and went to the bathroom at a rest stop every few hours. Otherwise, she didn’t even slow down.

 

Angelica drove until there was more water than land before finally stopping for a hotel. ‘Welcome to Islamorada’ the sign at the start of town had read. “ _ Ok _ ”, she thought. “ _ I can deal with this _ .”

 

The first hotel Angelica checks into is absolutely amazing on all accounts. The staff are very friendly, believe her when she says she’s lost her ID but tells them her name is Barbara Woolf, try not to give her suspicious looks when she pays in all cash. They give her a posh room, make sure she’s comfortable, and the bellboy reminds her of all the amenities the hotel offers before leaving her to rest for the night. She doesn’t sleep a wink and checks out the next morning.

 

The next hotel Angelica checks into is a little ways down the road. It’s quaint, and a little older, but not at all a bad place to stay for a while. The woman behind the desk smiles as though she knows something when Angelica stumbles in, half dead on her feet. “Welcome to Harbor Lights Motel! Room for one?” the woman asks. Angelica puts on her most winning smile.

 

“Yes, please. Under Barbara Woolf. And I am sorry but I seem to have lost my ID.” Angelica answers, hoping against hope she won’t be turned away like the last six places. The woman nods and types the name into the computer. 

 

“Looks like we have an opening in room two. Would you like me to call J.C. to help with your luggage?” the receptionist asks. Angelica pauses for a moment before nodding and smiling gratefully. “J.C., there’s a lovely lady out here who needs help with her bags”, she says, raising her voice slightly before turning to Angelica with a kind smile. “And please, call me Becca”, Angelica mumbles her thanks as a bright-eyed young man sweeps from the back and picks up her bags.

 

“Right this way miss!” he all but crows. Angelica follows robotically, allows J.C. to let her into the room, takes her room key, and passes out as soon as the door clicks shut behind her. 

 

When she wakes up, it’s the middle of the night and she’s been gone almost two days. Shit. She plugs in her dead phone and waits patiently for it to turn back on. The flurry of messages and missed calls that flood in once it does are no less than she expects. She ignores them all. Taps out a simple message to Eliza instead. ‘ _ I’m fine. _ ’ it reads. ‘ _ I’m safe. I just need some time. _ ’ She doesn’t wait for a response, opting instead to go shower and get dressed so she can sit in front of the TV until sun up and go explore the town at a more decent hour. Once her phone has mostly charged, she unplugs it and turns it off.

 

After a couple of old reruns of a show Angelica hadn’t bothered to pay attention to, the sun rose, and she left her room to find out what was around town. The muggy Florida air was still giving her hair, and lungs, hell, but she pushed on in search of . . . something. Beyond perhaps breakfast, she wasn’t sure what she was looking for. Eventually, she stumbles upon the Midway Cafe and Coffee Bar. “ _ Good enough _ ”, she thinks and orders an egg sandwich with a coffee. She’s sitting on a bench near the window, halfway through her sandwich, when a familiar face joins her for breakfast on the bench.

 

“Good morning, Ms. Woolf”, J.C. greets, exuberance for life muted for the sake of others at this early hour. Angelica takes a sip of coffee and smiles.

 

“Good morning, J.C.”, she replies. He smiles back and they have breakfast in companionable silence. It’s a nice change from her normal routine. She tells J.C. to call her Barbara, and J.C. replies that his name is John Church. They make unconscious plans to meet for breakfast tomorrow.

 

For the first week, Angelica doesn’t stray far from the motel. She’ll read by the water or poke around establishments nearby. The only routine she has is breakfast with J.C. at Midway. It tends to be the most talking she does all day. Tourists come and go, sometimes bustling by and sometimes moving as slowly and quietly as she is. Something in her understands that the Keys (and perhaps life) are best enjoyed when not in a hurry.

 

On the Monday of her second week in town, it rains. Angelica has seen thunderstorms before, but Florida storms on the water still strike a little awe into her. She’s not sure what to do for breakfast, figures maybe she will drive to somewhere new to eat, when there’s a knock on her door. Alarm races through her. She’s not ready to face home yet. But when she answers the door, it is a damp and smiling J.C. with egg sandwiches and coffee. She laughs, and his eyes sparkle like the sea on a sunny day at the sound. They sit by the window, watching the waves while they eat, and J.C. tells her about growing up on the beach. He doesn’t ask where she’s from and she is grateful. A few stories later, he goes to work with a smile, and the storm abates not long after.

 

Just over three weeks into her stay, Becca and Tom, the motel owners, tell J.C. to take the day off. Around mid-morning, he seeks out Angelica in the hammocks near the water. She’s in tears. “Barbara?” he asks. Angelica just cries harder. He carries her to her room and holds her until she’s calmed enough to speak. And when she does, everything comes spilling out.

 

“My name isn’t Barbara Woolf”, she begins, and over the next two hours, she hiccups out the truth around impending tears. She tells him how she essentially ran away from home, how she needed so badly to just go, how she hadn’t quite intended to return despite her nightly assurances to Eliza that she would soon. He listens, patting her back and being as comforting as he possibly can as the story goes on. She eventually runs out of words, so J.C. speaks up.

 

“If I may ask you a question,” he half whispers, afraid to break the hushed air of the room, “What is your real name?” Angelica looks up at him for the first time since he found her crying. His eyes are kind as always, though there’s a wistfulness about his usually joyful face.

 

“You aren’t upset?” she asks, expecting him to be angry with her for lying, for keeping so much from him. He shakes his head.

 

“Becca knew the entire time you were hiding something”, he says gently. “But she knew it was nothing bad, just personal, so she let you stay.” Angelica’s lips turn up into a small smile.

 

“My name is Angelica Schuyler”, she says. He pulls her into a tight hug before pulling away to look her in the eye.

 

“Angelica Schuyler”, he says, eyes boring into hers, “I believe it’s time for you to go home.”

  
And the next day, she does, but not before leaving a note at the front desk for J.C. when she pays her bill. Underneath her name and address it says, ‘ _ Don’t forget to write. _ ’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Virtual cookies (and a notes mention next chapter, which I have written) if you can guess which two authors Angelica used for her fake name.
> 
> Edit: I fucked up! I accidentally changed Angelica's fake name partway through and then shifted back. It's supposed to be Barbara. My bad! I'm normally much more careful. Don't know what got into me.


	7. Theodosia (Burr Alston)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There will be several nights when you lose yourself in the medicine cabinet, because liquor and morphine seem like a faster cure than time. It’s okay. I will still love you in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back!! NY was lit, Hamilton even more so (Daveed was amazing and I'm sad to see him go). And shout out to milatte and of_books_and_needles for guessing the author Virginia Woolf. The other author was Barbara Kingsolver.

Princeton is rough. And for the legacy child of such a venerated alumni, it’s even rougher. Finals are happening but Theodosia’s got an off day before her last one (the easiest) and she is  _ exhausted _ . Too tired to eat, sleep, or study. Too tired to entertain the fact that there was every chance that she had just bombed the finals she’d taken that day.

 

“Fuck this,” she swore, shoving herself out of her desk chair and ripping open her first aid bag. She’d never been more grateful for her father being a worry wart. No one questioned pills in a medical bag and no one searched it for alcohol either. She pops the top off of a small vodka bottle and starts drinking.

 

Morning finds Theodosia on the floor, surrounded by single serve bottles of liquor and a couple pill bottles as well (all still closed, as her drunk self could not manage the child safety features). She sighs deeply, headache throbbing behind her eyes. A knock at the door makes her wince.

 

“Theo?” a very familiar voice calls. “Are you in there?”  Her eyes widen with alarm. The actual and ever loving  _ fuck _ is Philip doing here? She quickly sweeps the mess under her bed, thanking God that her roomie had moved out yesterday, and opens the door. Philip wobbles in with a smile, still not quite used to the newest leg brace they have him in. He never complains though. She and Georges wish it wasn’t because he still believes he deserves the pain and struggle.

 

“Hey babe,” Theo greets, trying to sound not hungover. “What are you doing here?”

Philip’s nose scrunches up as though he were attempting to work out a particularly ornery sentence. 

 

“Have you been drinking?” he asks. Sweat trickles down Theo’s back as he limps closer to her bed and runs his cane underneath. A couple of bottles, both full medicine ones and empty liquor ones, roll out into the center of the room. His eyes widen. “Oh, sweetheart. . .” he breathes. All of the emotions of the past couple days well up and Theo cuts him off.

 

“Don’t,” she snarls, face heating up with both shame and rage. Philip’s brow knits with concern and Theo’s temper flares further. “Don’t give me that look. Don’t ‘Oh, sweetheart’ me. I needed to escape for a while. So I got wasted. Tried to get more wasted than I was. I was too fucking drunk to get at the pills. But I didn’t walk in front of a speeding car or some shit. I wasn’t trying to die.” It’s a low blow and she knows it. 

 

Philip doesn’t even flinch. Instead, he carefully clears his face and asks in a voice devoid of anything but seemingly professional curiosity, “What was going on yesterday then?” She stares at him, waiting for him to look up and meet her eyes. After a minute or so of total silence, he does. He is able to hide his emotions in a controlled voice and countenance, but the outpouring of unconditional love and concern she sees in his eyes breaks her, and for the first time since she turned thirteen, she breaks down crying with sobs that wrack her body, uncaring of who hears or sees.

  
Despite his injuries, Philip is quick to scoop her into a tight embrace and pull her up to sit on the bed. She buries her face in his chest, sobs turning into an unintelligible, hiccoughed answer to his question. He doesn’t let go, rocks them back and forth as she soaks his shirt with sweat and tears and snot. Eventually, Theodosia calms. Her sobs give way to quiet sniffles and her violent shaking downgrades to a fine tremor. She lacks the strength to remove herself from Philip’s arms, so he pulls her in tight, presses a kiss into her hair, and whispers, “I love you.” And Theodosia hangs on to those words with everything she has.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Philip lives!!!


	8. Aaron

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One day, in the midst of work, you will learn to forgive. It will start out with a simple reminder of the past, maybe a facebook notification from an old schoolmate or a wedding announcement from an ex-lover. In that moment you will learn that yearning for the past isn’t romantic, it’s stupid, and that if Gatsby had just let go of the green light he would’ve lived. So forgive your past, it didn’t know any better, and move on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all wouldn't believe what's gone on lately. I've been kicked out, allowed back in, done all sorts of medical shit (none of which is what I truly need), and almost completely set up for college. It's been, how you say, a mess. But I'm back!!

There were days when nothing got under Aaron’s skin. And then there were days when he saw so much red he could shoot someone. Today was the latter. Alexander had once again pulled something seemingly out of his ass just before the jury was sent out that changed the entire case and saved a literally hopeless client. He was happy that they’d won, of course, but god _ damn _ it he would never understand how Alexander had once again flown by the seat of pants and succeeded where ages of his research had not.

 

And of course it had always been like this. Alexander had blustered into class one day looking a mess, and Aaron was sure he was a destined drop out. Then he opened his mouth and Aaron was sure he’d be expelled. But before either of them knew it, they were sharing the Valedictorian speaking time at graduation, and then an office at a law firm downtown, and then their own (God help them) law firm uptown.

 

But nothing had changed since that fateful day. Alexander was still prone to sudden breakthroughs of seeming genius that were hope, prayer, and metaphorical duct tape. And Burr was still infuriated by his ability to pass off these moments as almost well thought out plan. It often undermined his work and, on a more basic level, Burr felt it wasn’t fair. What had happened to the days when his careful methods had brought him the utmost success over those who rushed in headlong?

 

With a deep sigh, he sat back from his computer and decided to stop dwelling on his ever growing irritation with Alexander. As a distraction from his ire, he checked his phone. His heart leapt at the message. It was from Theo.

 

**From Theo:** Dad, we need to talk. Are you free for lunch? We can go to that diner near your office you pretend not to like.

 

He didn’t hesitate. If his daughter needed him so badly that she was willing to come from school in Jersey then there was no way he’d refuse her.

 

**To Theo:** Can you meet me there at one?

 

**From Theo:** Sounds good. Love you Daddy! <3

 

Aaron’s heart warmed. She might be in college now but she was still his little girl. He set his phone timer for 12:50pm and got back to work.

 

* * *

 

 

Aaron strolls into the diner five minutes before one, excited to see his daughter if a little worried that she’d seemed to want to talk so urgently. He’s surprised to see her already seated at his favorite booth and lost in thought with shakes for both of them (vanilla for him, strawberry for her). He sits down with a smile and a “Hey Theo,” causing her to jump before smiling nervously at him.

 

“Hey Dad,” she says, voice a little shaky. “So, how’s work?” Aaron resists the urge to roll his eyes and grumble about Hamilton, opting instead to confront the matter at hand.

 

“Less important than whatever you wanted to talk to me about”, he answers. His concern only grows with the ill-hidden alarm on Theo’s face. “Whatever it is,” he continues, “I promise I won’t love you any less.” Theo’s alarm turns to skepticism.

 

“I’m not entirely convinced,” she replies, scrunching her face. Aaron cocks his head, brow furrowing in askance and Theo attempts to clarify. “How much, exactly, do you hate Hamilton?” Aaron’s confusion increases.

 

“What’s he got to do with . . . are you avoiding the subject?” Aaron asks suspiciously. Theo sighs.

 

“The easy thing is this: I’m poly. I’m in a polyamorous relationship with two great guys who go to Columbia. I want you to meet them soon,” she says, before looking away and chewing on her lip for a moment. “The hard thing is who they are, or rather, who one of them is.” Aaron is semi-relieved. He had thought Theo’s news was going to be something truly terrible.

 

“I’m glad you came out to me sweetheart,” he says, encouragingly. “And I would love to meet your boyfriends . . .” he pauses, waiting on their names. Theo takes a deep breath and sets her shoulders but still doesn’t look at him.

 

“Georges Washington Lafayette-Mulligan,” she pauses, steeling herself, “and Philip Hamilton.”

 

“I’m sorry what?” Aaron asks, hoping just a little that he had misheard the second name. Theo looks him in the eye.

 

“One of the boys I’m dating is Philip Hamilton. I have to get back to campus. Love you, bye.” she says and before Aaron can collect himself enough to respond, she has left eight dollars on the table for their shakes and is rushing through the door. After a few minutes, Aaron stands and returns to work. He ends up not really having lunch.

 

* * *

 

 

“Aaron Burr, sir!” the familiar voice rings out, sounding almost jovial. “I’ve barely seen you for a week!”  Aaron steels himself for the ensuing conversation as Hamilton’s hurried steps catch up to him on the mostly empty street. “Have you been avoiding me?”

 

For once, Aaron speaks before he thinks. “Yes,” he snaps, tense, and then continues because  _ he’s already started so why the fuck not _ ? “I don’t particularly like you. Haven’t for years. But I have tolerated you as an acquaintance and am working on doing better because. . .” Aaron pauses, gritting his teeth in a way that makes his jaw twinge with pain.

 

“I know,” Hamilton says quietly, before smiling with a wistfulness Aaron has never seen out of him before. “I’m not oblivious you know. You haven’t ever  _ liked _ me, even if you’ve tolerated and worked with me. And now our kids are dating.” Aaron blinks, a little shocked. “I know I’m a lot,” Hamilton continues, “in near every sense of those words. But for what it’s worth I’m sorry for having been such an irritant to you.” With his apology given he nods and makes to leave, but Aaron stops him with a hand on his shoulder.

  
“Hamilton, Alex, please, wait,” he requests, before cracking a smile at the irony of a role reversal years in the making. “I forgive you,” he says, “and for what it’s worth, I apologize as well.” 

Hamilton smiles at him, more genuinely happy this time, and squeezes the hand on his shoulder before pulling away and turning the opposite direction to head home. And as Aaron watches his back retreat, he realizes that it’s the first conversation between them in which every word spoken was genuine.


	9. Maria (Lewis)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leaving home will hurt, but soon you will learn that home isn’t a place but a feeling, and that there is a compass on your heart that points directly to that feeling. Follow that compass. Don’t get sidetracked by boys who don’t care or alcohol that doesn’t forgive. If you follow that compass, no matter how lost you get, you will always have a home.

She meets the person before the last of the bruises he gave to her have healed. “Peggy” with the pronouns ze/zir. Maria had of course abided by the request. It was basic respect after all. Something she knew all about being denied. 

It was hard, not to blame herself, even intellectually knowing that she was not at fault. Homeless at fourteen because she refused to abide by her stepfather’s tyrannical rules (and less than chaste affections). In what would be a years long abusive relationship by fifteen because she’d had nowhere else to go and James had been so sweet, offering her a drink and a ride to wherever she’d needed to go and a place to crash when she’d said she didn’t have one. Offering her a sympathetic ear and hugs followed by kisses and wandering hands and promises to be gentle and love her. Offering what Maria thought life was supposed to be like.

 

But once she was in too deep to just walk away, he started offering his raised voice, quickly followed by his raised hand, and if Maria thought she’d been good at makeup before it was nothing compared to the skills she picked up hiding the bruises he gave her. She’d thought they were in love at the time, that she needed to protect him. She’d realized only a month ago, after three years of braving his temper, that maybe this was not where she should stay. That him hurting her, leaving bruises inside and out, was not ok. 

 

And when she asks Peggy, the clerk at the community women’s center, for help, she is still wearing the last set of bruises James gave to her, hiding them under carefully selected clothes and painstakingly applied makeup. Peggy doesn’t judge, smiles at her more genuinely than James ever did and directs her to the offices that aid battered women seeking safety and assistance with getting back on their feet. When Maria walks up to the door and pauses, unsure of whether or not she should enter, Peggy gently takes her by the hand and walks her inside, introduces her to the day’s receptionist (zir sister, Eliza) and makes sure Maria is as comfortable as possible before returning to the front desk.

 

It’s only a couple minutes before Eliza calls her to the window, explains what will go on once she goes through the door, gives Maria a couple papers to read and sign as well. Maria thinks of the way Peggy reassuringly squeezed her hand despite barely knowing her, thinks of the way Eliza had seemed pleased to see her slowly relax in the waiting room’s chair, and quickly signs the papers, takes her first step towards freedom.

 

What happens behind the door is all standard procedure for the center she’s told. She’s offered all sorts of medical tests and screenings, asked about her past, her present, and what she wants for the future. They ask about friends and family that don’t exist and about James and what he did to her and finally they offer her a place in a nearby shelter. She accepts it.

 

It is late when she gets to the shelter by way of courtesy van from the women’s center. They have a decent sized room full of donated clothes of all sizes. She gets to pick a week’s worth of outfits, two pairs of street shoes, pajamas, and a complete set of dress clothes for things such as job interviews. She can go with the supplies and shopping van tomorrow to pick out intimates and normal sized toiletries. Her room is small and she has no roommate yet, so it’s private too. Despite the unfamiliar surroundings Maria sleeps quite well.

 

At sunrise Maria wakes, uses the communal bathroom with her set of complimentary travel toiletries and gets dressed in her new favorite outfit, a red sundress with black flats. The shelter is still quiet so she works her way to the small book area she saw yesterday on the way in. She reads for roughly an hour, rising only when she smells the unmistakable scent of bacon and pancakes wafting from the dining area. Stomach grumbling, she closes her book and goes to breakfast. She only realizes that her bruises are showing when the woman next to her offers to let her borrow some cover up if she’s going out today. Maria smiles and accepts.

 

In the later morning, the shopping van gets ready to go. There’s a goliath of a man in the passenger seat but he seems friendly enough. The two women in the back with her greet him with elation. “Hercules! Where have you been,” they ask. And he launches into stories of all the clients he’s had the past two weeks at his tailoring business. He talks a little about someone named Lafayette, too. Says they might come by later in the week to visit. Maria stays so focused on the gentle giant Hercules that she doesn’t realize who is driving until they approach her after parking outside the Walmart.

 

“Hey again,” Peggy greets, smiling. “How ya holdin’ up?” Maria shrugs.

 

“Well enough. I suppose I should stick with you if I want underwear and stuff? Hercules seems nice and all but. . .” Maria trails off. Peggy gently takes her hand again, and Maria squeezes in assurance that the gesture is well received.

 

“If you’re comfortable coming with me than sure,” ze says. “So, what brands do you prefer?”

 

The group ends shops for the entire shelter and around noon ends up having lunch at a nearby Wendy’s. Hercules has been regaling the other two women with descriptions of his most recent dress designs while Maria and Peggy have been chatting amiably on the side when it happens.

 

“You whore!” the too familiar voice rings out. The restaurant goes silent. Maria instinctively makes herself smaller as James advances on their table. “The fuck have you been?” He reaches out to drag her up by her arm when a hand around his wrist stops him.

 

“You got a problem buddy,” Hercules growls as the other two women shift out of his way. “Because I’ll be happy to solve it for you.” He stands up, towering over James and looking truly intimidating for the first time all day. James switches tactics, knowing belligerence will only get his ass handed to him.

 

“Maria, please come home baby,” he pleads. “I miss you. I promise I can do better! Just give me one more chance.” Maria looks at Peggy who’s pinning James with a gaze of steel. And then ze turns to Maria, eyes still intense but not judgemental.

 

“No,” Maria mumbles, voice shaky but tone sure, gaze turned downward in hesitant defiance.

“What’d you say to me,” James asks, temper beginning to flare once more. Maria looks at Peggy again. Ze nods, takes Maria’s hand under the table, and squeezes lightly.

 

“I said no, Reynolds. Leave me alone,” Maria states, looking him in the eyes. James goes red, eyes wild and body ready to retaliate, but Hercules steps in between them.

 

“You heard the lady,” he says, slightly flexing the bands of muscle around his arms. “Move along.” James weighs his options, eyes Hercules’ large fists, eyes the employee behind the counter getting ready to call the cops, and beats a hasty retreat. Maria doesn’t realize she’s shaking and crying until Peggy begins to hand her napkins and the other women begin to fuss over her, patting her shoulders and petting her hair and telling her it’s going to be ok. Maria just nods in agreement through her tears.

 

It takes her half the van ride to calm down. Hercules is driving with the taller of the two women in the passenger seat and the smaller sits on Maria’s left while Peggy sits on her right. Maria lays her head on Peggy’s shoulder and doesn’t move the entire ride back because things don’t seem so scary there. But eventually they make it back to the shelter and the van has to get unloaded. Maria insists on helping because she needs something to do. Hercules heads home after the van is unloaded but Peggy stays for dinner, sits with an overly quiet Maria during and afterwards.

 

Around ten in the evening when Maria’s yawns have become extra contagious and Peggy is fighting valiantly not to catch them, ze shifts to reach for something on the coffee table, jostling Maria a bit, who stretches and sits up to look at Peggy. “I have to head home or my sisters will get worried,” ze explains, before quickly jotting down a phone number on the coffee table notepad and handing the note to Maria. “There’s my number. Call if you need anything.”

 

Without thinking, Maria throws her arms around Peggy. Peggy hugs back, letting Maria take comfort in the gentle human contact her life has been so lacking. Ze offers no platitudes or easy comfort. And Maria hangs on for almost a full minute before pulling away with a muttered apology. Peggy smiles gently.

  
“You don’t have to apologize,” ze says. “I want to help, to be a friend, and if you need a hug, I’ll be happy to give it.” Maria’s thank you is almost inaudible but Peggy manages to catch it and responds by taking Maria’s hands in zir’s and squeezing gently before placing them back on the couch. “I’ll be back tomorrow,” ze says, before dramatically dropping zir voice. “I’m on kitchen duty!” Maria can’t help but laugh in response and Peggy leaves with the sound still ringing in zir ears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been a mess lately, especially with school coming up and a huge whole other AU planned (I've actually been working on the first chapter when I get stuck with Signed). But I finally got this one done and I'm working on the next and soon I will have written all 13 chapters and you can stop waiting on my slow ass. Much love to y'all and I hope you're well.


	10. Peggy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hardest lesson you will ever learn will be to love yourself. But you can do it. There will always be days when you hate yourself, days when you wish you had never been born. But darling you are beautiful, and if Shakespeare had met you, you would’ve inspired his 18th sonnet, and if Monet had known you he would’ve given up painting water lilies and chosen to paint you instead. I know it’s hard to love yourself, but sometimes it’s okay to be a little selfish with your love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm alive, heh. Have some more of my emotional shit.

Peggy had never been the one in the spotlight. Of course ze was a cherished member of zir family and friend group but ze existed always in the background. Even after ze had come out as genderfluid it had been a week tops of special attention and once everyone had mostly adjusted ze was relegated to the background again. And boy did it hurt. Angelica was the oldest, wittiest, and most shrewd of the Schuyler siblings. Eliza was the sweet one who was always known for the best hugs and baked goods and always smelling nice. And Peggy was just Peggy. Peggy the youngest Schuyler sibling. Peggy the tagalong. ‘And Peggy’.

 

And then ze met Maria. The world didn’t suddenly stop spinning when she walked through the door of the women’s center. There were no fireworks or feelings of love at first sight. There was simply the ache of yearning to help when Maria timidly approached the desk and began to speak, almost too quietly to hear. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I don’t know where to go. I’m alone,” she’d said. “My boyfriend constantly beats and mistreats me and I can’t go on like this.” 

 

And Peggy had smiled gently and given her over to Eliza’s care, hoping that, whatever her past, she’d be able to find a brighter future. What Peggy hadn’t done was expect to see her again but the next day the van driver wasn’t feeling up to navigating traffic so ze, the alternate volunteer for whatever needed doing, ended up behind the wheel and there she was in the back seat, quietly observing the interactions between Hercules, Catherine, and Dolly. And then she wasn’t just a (absolutely stunning) picture in the rearview but a solid presence by Peggy’s side as they wandered through the store, picking out things Maria needed and laughing at each other’s terrible jokes.

 

“I used to hate math,” Peggy says as the group begins to check out, “but I realized that decimals have a point.” The entire group, sans Maria who’s in absolute stitches, groans at the pun. The sappy thought of wanting hear Maria’s laugh on a loop goes through Peggy’s head and ze squashes it, instead pretending to scowl at the rest of the faux unappreciative group. “None of you have a sense of humor except for Maria,” ze grumbles, suppressing a smile. Even the cashier rolls his eyes.

 

‘ _ If only the lightheartedness could’ve lasted _ ,’ thinks Peggy as ze watches the man who is apparently Maria’s abusive ex approach them with murder in his eyes. Hercules stands, keeps him from grabbing her, asks the man if there’s a problem. His tune changes immediately in Hercules’ shadow and grip. He begs a shaking Maria to come back home with meaningless words and promises. Peggy knows ze can’t intervene but ze looks over at her and when she turns and their eyes meet, Maria’s resolve hardens just a little. She tells him no, Hercules shoos him away, and, the second he’s gone, Maria shatters. And if Peggy’s heart breaks a little too, then that’s certainly no one else’s business.

 

They reach the shelter without another incident and having calmed Maria on the way. Peggy is almost afraid Maria will break when she first jumps out of the van but there’s that steel again and before Peggy’s even found zir footing on the pavement, Maria’s got four of the heaviest bags on her arms and is headed for the front door. Peggy exhales with relief.

 

Dinner is a quiet affair. Everyone knows something happened with the outing group and while there’s the barest tension in the air, no one quite feels uncomfortable. Just reflective. Peggy stays close to Maria throughout (or maybe Maria stays close to zir, no one really knows) and after dinner, they retire to a sitting room with a couple books on it. Maria has her head on Peggy’s shoulder for the second time that day and they both are getting way too sleepy to stay sitting there so Peggy writes zir number for Maria and hopes for a call. Maria hugs Peggy with all her might before pulling away and apologizing.

  
And Peggy’s brain freezes while zir heart blooms. Ze realizes ze is not just ‘and Peggy’. Never has been. Ze bades Maria not apologize and then good night. And if ze feels the first stirrings of love for not one, but two people that night, well, no one has to know just yet.


	11. Georges

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When you begin to feel worthless, remember that the stars died for you. You are made of elements that are thousands of years old, elements that make up every atom of your being. When you want to cut your wrists, remember that the souls of stars live in your veins. Don’t kill them. Don’t be selfish.

December in the French countryside was colder than Georges remembered. Despite the falling temperature, they sat near the open window of their room in Zaza’s estate, watching the snow fall soundlessly to the ground.

 

“ _ How easy it would be _ ”, they thought, “ _ to just tip myself off this seat and out the window _ ”.

They remembered joking with Philip once, as young teens, after having been scolded by their parents for a wayward prank in front of an entire party. Philip had dropped face down onto the bed with a flourish to hide his glowing cheeks. Dramatically, he had groaned and asked, “How high is that window?”

 

Fourteen-year-old Georges had shrugged and flopped moodily on the bed next to him. Current Georges had a better answer now: high enough. They leaned forward a bit, rocking on the leg underneath them. 

 

“ _ Cur non? _ ” they reasoned. The Hamiltons had enough children to keep Zaza and Herc occupied. Philip and Theodosia had each other. Their friends had plenty of other company. They were unnecessary, an extra in their own life. Another shift of weight left them dangerously close to toppling to their death, a still body in the fresh snow, red stain spreading garishly bright from underneath. And then they looked up.

 

The stars were everywhere, dotting the sky like freckles dotted Philip’s face, and shining bright as Theo’s smile. The universe seemed infinite as Herc’s heart and hugs and - just there! - a shooting star with all the life in Zaza’s eyes.The sky was broad as the ocean the younger Hamiltons always begged to be taken to and deep as the well of love their friends and family had for them.

 

Georges took a deep breath to clear their head, and shifted back towards safety.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally did it. I got another chapter of this story out. I think it's happening. I think things are finishing. This may not be my best work, but I'm pretty damn proud.


End file.
